Mirage
by Bonibaru00
Summary: Inara is the mirror, not the reflection. Written for the Literary fanfic challenge.


Question: How do they know liver-flavored dog treats actually taste like liver?  
  
Word: quixotic adj. preoccupied with an unrealistically optimistic or chivalrous approach to life; impractically idealistic.  
  
Taboo word: What  
  
Fandom: Firefly  
  
Mirage  
  
mi-rage (m-r?zh) n.  
  
1) An optical phenomenon that creates the illusion of water, often with inverted reflections of distant objects, and results from distortion of light by alternate layers of hot and cool air. Also called fata morgana.  
  
2) Something illusory or insubstantial.  
  
[French, from mirer, to look at, from Latin mrr, to wonder at, from mrus, wonderful.  
  
There will always be people who cling to the old ways, for whom she is an undesirable person, a loose woman, a threat, a whore. Some of them will even say it to her face, and a scant few will be able to get away with it. But it takes no skills to be a whore. Inara's job is to be whomever the Client needs her to be; when she isn't working, she sometimes feels like an empty shell. She hides it perfectly, though, and assumes the mantle of Companion so effortlessly that anyone who sees her is able to paint her with their own colors. She's been schooled for just that, a mantra drummed into her since the early days of her training - she is the mirror, not the reflection.  
  
She's smart, she's beautiful, and she's good at the work she does. She's never suffered the humiliation of not being chosen quickly, like some of the other girls in her class. Since she left the Academy and went to work full time, she's always had a full Client roster thanks to her knack for psychological insights and keen ability to mold herself into the desired form. Had she not been accepted as a Companion, she might have become an Analyst, charging hundreds of credits an hour to do essentially the same thing she does now but with less nudity. The money wouldn't have been as good, though, and Inara needs the sense of comfort that only a large bank account can provide for a person who's become a little jaded this early in their employment history.  
  
Someday - hopefully soon - she will retire while she is still young enough to enjoy herself, living out her days in the peacefully private confines of a luxury apartment on one of the core planets. She tries not to wonder if a certain someone from Serenity would come with her, leaving behind his quixotic Robin-Hood-lifestyle for something more mundane. It's a question she will probably never allow herself to ask out loud. The Shepherd isn't the only crewman who's exactly where he ought to be.  
  
She logs into the Registry mailbox and finds a new wave from Dallas. It's nearing election time, and she isn't surprised. He usually calls for her just before or after the political climate reaches a boiling point. She replies with her usual grace, notes a few dates on her calendar that are open, and tells him she looks forward to seeing him before she closes the link.  
  
Then she crosses to her foot locker, removes a small wooden box, and checks the energy cells in Dallas's harness to see if they need charging.  
  
Being dominant isn't something that Inara finds all that challenging, but she doesn't usually take on those kinds of Clients anyway. Inara's strengths lie in empathy and healing, though she is quite capable of filling other roles. She is well aware of her own limitations, and it's difficult for her to intentionally degrade another person, whether they ask for it or not. She keeps Dallas on her roster because their role-play is not sexual - that isn't the release he's looking for. Inara understands that their puppy training sessions are a steam valve for the Senator, and he knows she is an experienced - and discreet - professional. In his adopted role he is unrestrained, pulling his overworked mind back into his body, communicating with her only in grunts and whimpers, or with affected canine body language. She towers over him, her confident presence as controlling as the modified harness he wears around his waist and thighs, strapping the small shock box between his legs.  
  
Her rules for their sessions are fairly simple: he is to sit only on the floor, must relieve himself out in the privacy-fenced yard, and is not allowed to beg at the table. At night, Dallas curls up on a pillow on the floor beside his usual bed in the Master bedroom, where she sleeps. He drinks only out of a water bowl on the floor. She feeds him liver-flavored dog treats sometimes, when he behaves, and rubs his belly if he stares at her with soulful eyes. She asked him once, when a session had ended and she was preparing to leave, how the doggie snacks tasted. "Like liver," he shrugged, obviously uncomfortable. She didn't ask him anything more about it after that.  
  
Over the course of a normal visit, she runs through a fairly basic routine with him, three times a day: sit, stay, roll over, play dead, shake hands. She uses a thin chain collar and leash for correction, applying a mild shock as a firmer discipline only when he is deliberately disobedient. He fetches things for her on command sometimes, carrying them in his mouth because he wears thickly padded mittens on his hands as part of his interspecies transformation. Some days he runs away from her and is naughty; once she left for a moment and came back to find him chewing on one of her slippers. She pretends not to notice anything's different on the days when he repeatedly challenges her and obviously *wants* the shock. Her job as Mistress is to provide him with structure, discipline, and reward. That's all the therapy he's paying her for. If he wants any extra analysis, they can work out a new contract.  
  
It's one of the rare things about her that Mal might actually be able to understand, if he'd ever drop the facade of "self-righteous hero of the common man" for half a second and think of her as just another businesswoman.  
  
Inara sighs, and flips through her calendar. The Senator will probably book her for the coming weekend, and she'll have to convince Mal to drop her by Chisholm before heading out to the job at Diablo Pass. She'll figure on three days. If she only needs two, she can spend the third shopping. Her makeup supplies are running low and that's one luxury Inara refuses to do without.  
  
After a brief glance in the mirror, she heads down to the galley in search of the captain, her mask sliding into place as easily as breathing. 


End file.
